


Reset

by violetpeche



Series: Making It [2]
Category: NCT (Band), 威神V | WayV
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Consensual Sex, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Gratuitous Smut, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, Long-Term Relationship(s), Los Angeles, M/M, Making Love, Making Out, Open Relationships, Porn With Plot, Sleep Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-07-31 18:21:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20119537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetpeche/pseuds/violetpeche
Summary: He already had too much on his mind between grading (terribly written) papers, fellowship applications, his academic internship at the museum, research for his dissertation, spending nights and weekends behind the bar at The Den, making time for his (sometimes very) needy, (yet very) loving boyfriend... but this particular Thursday morning spiraled into Hell on Earth. The moldy bread was only the tip of the iceberg.





	Reset

**Author's Note:**

> And here she is—the next installment of '_Making It_', a series of stories about young adults with big dreams getting by in Los Angeles.
> 
> This segment has light angst, but I want to say that there is a lot more to be told between Kun and Ten in their overall story arc. 
> 
> Brief disclaimer to stress all sex in this is 100% consensual, Kun and Ten are 100% in L-O-V-E with each other, and also this is 100% purely fiction. 
> 
> Please do not repost this fic onto another website or translate without my permission. No exceptions. Thank you for respecting my wishes.
> 
> Forgive me in advanced, but please drop me a curious cat if you spot any glaring typos!

Kun thought the worst part of his day was finding a piece of blue mold sprouting from a slice of bread in the loaf he picked up at Gelson’s two days ago. The label _said_ “best by” next Wednesday. 

It _wasn’t_ “best by” next Wednesday. 

Today, it was a good six days until next Wednesday, and it was already rotting. While Kun didn’t take on a life of academia in the STEM sector, he did know that once the spores start to sprout in one bit of your loaf, it’s all over your loaf. Everywhere. In there. A mixed-bag petri dish of potential disaster. 

Ten, his boyfriend of five years, joked, “It’s free penicillin,” but no: it’s wasted food, which means wasted money thrown at an overpriced supermarket he stupidly went to out of convenience rather than the Trader Joe’s up the street. On principle, Kun should pursue a damn refund on the moldy bread, but who actually goes back to the market to return those kinds of things? And at _Gelson’s_? The exact Gelson’s he’s bumped carts with Matt Damon at least _three times_ since he moved to West Hollywood? What would Matt Damon think of him if he saw Kun returning a loaf of bread? For-fucking-get it. 

Ten can pick up the bread next time.

He already had too much on his mind between grading (terribly written) papers, fellowship applications, his academic internship at the museum, research for his dissertation, spending nights and weekends behind the bar at The Den, making time for his (sometimes very) needy, (yet very) loving boyfriend... but this particular Thursday morning spiraled into Hell on Earth. The moldy bread was only the tip of the iceberg.

Kun stepped out of his apartment ready to take on the day. He noticed a new verbena plant nestled between the jungle of greenery lining the perimeter of the courtyard. The hum of air conditioning units bounced off the walls like a swarm of bees. He wiped away at the line of perspiration starting on his upper lip. Kun could already tell he had an inevitably sweaty day ahead of him as soon as he swallowed down the wet air. He prayed he applied enough deodorant; it was too late for him to turn back and change into a linen shirt.

On his way to his car, he was stopped by Mark, his neighbor from across the hall. He was tending to his army of succulents propped onto a makeshift plywood shelf beneath his apartment window.

“Morning, Kun!” Mark said smiling with a wave.

Kun nodded politely. “Morning, Mark.”

“Say,” Mark said putting down the tiniest aloe plant. "I was reading this article on some artist from Brussels the other day."

Kun froze in his tracks. Mark was a good kid, hard working, always polite and never once got on Kun's nerves, but this morning was _not_ the morning.

"Maybe he was from the Netherlands?" Mark said inquisitively.

"Listen—"

"It was really neat, apparently—"

"Mark," Kun said, cutting him off mid-sentence. He plastered on his best apologetic smile with a pout. "I'm running a bit late for my appointment on campus. I'd love to chat with you later about this."

"Oh! Oh, sorry dude—no problem. Have a good day!"

Kun hiked his bag up his shoulder with a shrug and waved goodbye, then made a mad dash to his car parked on the street and bolted over to the university.

Not long after he pulled into the parking lot on campus to meet with his advisor, Kun found his usual parking spot was already occupied, leaving him no choice but to turn the car around, drive four rows back, down a slope, and park in a really inconvenient location at least half a mile further from the Art History department offices.

As soon as he started to head toward the offices, he watched a cyclist swerve to not hit a pedestrian, lose their balance, and fall shoulder first onto the hood of Kun’s car. Kun rushed over to check on the cyclist, and in turn spilled his scalding hot cup of tea down the front of his shirt. The cyclist was more embarrassed than anything, shrugged off the fall, and zipped away moments before Kun noticed the watermelon-sized dent pressed onto his hood.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he spat. He couldn't even bother calling in the insurance claim right away. His advisor was a merciless ghoul who considered five minutes early to an appointment fifteen minutes late. With the half-mile extra jaunt tacked onto his journey, he had no time to spare.

Kun darted into the building, forehead lined with a fine sheen of sweat. The elevators would take too long, so he started hiking up the stairs to the fourth floor taking two steps at a time.

By the time he reached the top floor of the Art History department, Kun wished he packed his water bottle with him. He spotted the water cooler next to the admin assistant’s desk, then instantly frowned when he noticed it was completely out of water.

"This would never happen in the Science and Engineering buildings," Kun muttered as he crushed a styrofoam cup in his hand. He pulled out his phone to check the time. He was exactly 12 minutes early, so he had 2 minutes to fan away all the sweat from his face before trudging over to his advisor’s office.

"Kun," a monotone voice called from down the hall.

The voice, so familiar, smokey, dusty, ancient, never failed to make the hackles on Kun's neck rise. It was Dr. Byron Caplin.

When Kun first met him, he was over the moon to discover he would be advised by one of the most esteemed Italian Renaissance specialists, with fifteenth century painters being his field of expertise. After TA-ing for his undergraduate class for three semesters, and then trying to churn out reliable research for two years, the honeymoon period faded quickly when Kun started to realize how useless he was as an advisor. The only benefit of this entire affair was that Kun was able to address him by his first name and milk his reputation when enquiring other institutions for research materials.

He checked the time on his phone again. _Not even one fucking minute_, he groaned internally.

"Morning, Byron," Kun said holding back a sigh.

Byron curled his finger and motioned for Kun to follow him into his office.

Kun set his bag down next to the worn leather chair facing Byron's desk that was littered with loose leaf pages stuffed into stacks of manila folders. Plumes of steam curled from the mouth of a freshly brewed cup of tea. There was a stack of yellowing museum catalogues perched on the cabinet behind him that hadn't moved since Kun's previous appointment three months ago. He wondered if Byron remembered what he was researching for to begin with.

"So," Byron started, folding his hands into his lap. He had an unreadable expression on his face, or perhaps it was a bit more neutrally annoyed. Kun still had a difficult time trying to decide if he was always feeling inconvenienced or just emotionally constipated. The man had spent a minimum two months per year on the Amalfi Coast for the last three decades to conduct "research" and still didn't know how to unwind throughout the rest of the year.

"Thank you for meeting with me," Kun said.

Byron adjusted his thick, tortoise shell frames, steepled his fingers and rested his elbows on the arms of his chair. He looked like a cartoon villain.

There was an awkward pause as Bryon watched the steam rise from his mug. Kun flickered his eyes back to the mug and wondered if he was thinking he put enough sugar in it or not. Considering how heavy handed he could get in the times Kun had seen him preparing is in the break room, he was most likely advised by his doctor to stop putting so much sugar in his tea.

Kun flitted his eyes between the mug and to Byron and back to the mug several times before he cleared his throat.

"Sir...."

"Well," Byron started. He took a deep, exaggerated inhale and reached for the string of the tea bag to stir it counter-clockwise three times, then gingerly pulled it out of the mug to toss it into the bin under his desk. "I looked through what you sent me last week."

Kun clasped his hands together on his lap, knuckles turning white. This was expected to be the most stressful part of his day. He could already feel his shoulders tensing up.

Byron swiped his glasses from his face and threw them onto a stack of files. "It needs work," he sighed. Kun couldn't really tell if his was disappointed with his worked or chafed about having to waste his time with it. He continued on for the next several minutes tearing Kun's support material apart with the most eerily neutral expression on his face.

With each minute that passed, Kun started to feel his stomach plummet through the floor. By the end of Byron's reckoning, Kun was truly, wholly, utterly gutted. Two and a half months of research was deemed _worthless_ by his advisor in under ten minutes.

"What you need to do is look at some original texts at the Vatican Library," Byron suggested. He picked up his glasses and leaned back in his chair, expression now more at ease.

He knew this was exactly what he needed to do, but he didn’t receive the funding he needed _last year_ to conduct research for a month in Italy. The fact he was rejected from several fellowship opportunities throughout the year still rubbed him raw.

Kun cleared his throat and righted himself in the chair. He had hardly noticed he started to slouch under the dissection of his research.

"Sir," he started, trying his best to keep his voice calm. "I know it's what I need, but conducting research abroad is out of my budget at the moment."

"Well, you need some grant funding, don't you?"

Kun let out a long, frustrated sigh. Today would not let up. What made Kun more irritated was the fact Byron said it like it was the easiest thing in the world: _just pack your things and jaunt over to Rome to leaf through manuscripts._ And he'd done absolutely fuck all to help Kun secure some funding, or at the very least put him in touch with someone who could access the library for him.

"That's correct," he exhaled.

"Email me tonight to send you some links to a few fellowship applications."

_Same as it ever was._ Kun throttled down a spike of frustration. That's all Byron did—ask him to email him, and Kun would do as such. And then have to follow up a few days later. And again several more times after that until he heard a definitive answer. It was an endless game of cat and mouse with Byron trying to get anything done. The meeting they scheduled for today was postponed three times. If Kun had met with him sooner he would have spent a hell of a lot less time nit-picking at his dissertation ages ago.

"Is that all for today then?" Kun asked.

Kun started to feel his heart pounding in his ears. He was growing aggravated by the second. He started to feel bolder, wiser by the silence wading between them.

"While I have your attention, I just want to get something that's been on my mind off my chest." Kun wiped the palms of his hands on the tops of his thighs then folded them on his lap before talking again. "I've been going at this for three years now, and I'm feeling like I'm not making any significant progress."

Bryon steepled his fingers and waited a few beats. "You know, Kun. Not everyone is meant to be a scholar."

Kun scoffed. "Should I even bother continuing with my thesis?"

"That is _not_ what I am implying."

"It sounds like it.” Kun folded his arms across his chest. He couldn't believe what he was hearing spew out of Bryon's mouth.

"People should not be awarded doctorates simply for _trying_ to explore a topic. Too many these days try to coast through this process and lean onto their advisors much like they’re back in elementary school. The ones deserving of a doctorate are given to those who present something worthy to the scholarly community. I have, and continue, to train my candidates to cultivate their own modes of thinking, _and_ their own resources.”

Kun felt his blood pressure spike again. He seldom got this outwardly upset, but he felt like he was banging his head at a wall he couldn’t knock through. The only way people could advance in the academic community was through the guidance and help of their advisor, not by themselves. _What on fucking earth was Byron even talking about?_

Kun recalled the first time he sat down with Byron in this office five years ago before the start of is Master’s program. Byron made it explicitly clear he didn’t accept _any candidate simply because he had an obligation to do so by the department chair_, but he carefully selected a candidate every 2-3 years to advise simply because most would never live up to his standards. Also, he had been tenured for god knows how long—an unmovable fossil settled onto his throne and unlimited access to the brightest thinkers of his time. Knowing this scared and humbled Kun at the time, and as he grew more comfortable with Byron and his ways, Kun tended to forget about their first meeting. 

Kun was a _chosen one_.

"Kun?” Byron spoke again. This time his voice sounded much softer than it had all morning. Almost reverent. “I’m not intentionally setting you up for failure. There is something of merit in your thesis. You just haven't tapped into its potential."

Kun bit his lip. The bitterness waned ever so slightly under his ribs.

“Will that be all for today?” Byron said, ending the conversation with the swipe of a folder off his desk. He cracked it open and immediately started to rifle through the yellowing pages. 

“No, I understand,” Kun could feel the words start to weigh heavy on his tongue, like his tongue licking into a jar of peanut butter. “I’ll email you about anything else. Thank you for speaking with me.”

Kun slung his bag over his shoulder and left the office with a gentle wave. Byron waved back, eyes never leaving the pile of papers in front of him.

On his way out of the office, the fates decided to test Kun’s patience again. 

He was stopped by the crotchety, tenured Dr. Madsen, who handed Kun a new, fat stack of Art History I quizzes to grade by next Tuesday. He took them, bitterly, and shoved them into his bag and ran out the door. 

On his way to his car, he fielded a phone call from his manager at The Den to see if he could pick up a shift behind the bar that night. As a PhD candidate who was expected to devote his time to his studies on a pathetic stipend that could barely cover car insurance and a sack of potatoes each month, he technically wasn’t allowed to have extra employment that wasn’t an academic internship, but Kun really needed the extra cash. 

But he already promised Ten a night-in on the couch with a box of pizza and some _Westworld_.

He turned down the shift and got in his car to run a few errands before heading home.

To top off Kun’s really shitty Thursday, he spent 45 minutes circling the block around his apartment waiting for a parking spot to open up. He really wished he had the assigned parking spot more than anything, but Ten’s car was _newer_ and much more “vulnerable to vandalism” according to Ten. As much as Kun loved the controlled rent and convenience of living in West Hollywood, today he’d had enough of the universe dicking him around.

He trudged down the hill, tote bag full of papers to grade in tow, and he keyed in the code to let himself into the courtyard of his apartment building. Maria, the nosey, retired Mexican grandma who’d lived in 6A for the past 23 years, waved from behind her book in one of the lounge chairs. She had a large, crystal ashtray on the side table next to her with a pack of Virginia Slims. And what looked like a cup of coffee in her handmade ceramic mug. She looked like she wanted to chat, which Kun very much was not in the mood to get sucked into a 45 minute conversation with Maria when he was steps away from his apartment, so Kun quickly waved back with a polite nod, and made a beeline his way to his door across the courtyard. 

When he pushed open his door, Kun found Ten sprawled dramatically across the couch in his boxers and a faded pink t-shirt. He had an ice pack resting over his eyes with the TV buzzing in the background.

Kun toed his shoes off at the door. “Hi, babe,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb Ten. He looked down at the glaring tea stain across his chest and immediately started tearing the buttons open from his shirt.

“Hmmm,” Ten moaned and slowly peeled the ice pack away from his face. “Oh, good. You’re home.”

Kun crumpled his shirt and tucked it under his arm. “You got a migraine?” He sat down on the edge of the couch as Ten nestled further into the back of the couch to make room.

“Worse,” Ten said. “We had the Zephyr presentation. I told Minho I was going home as soon as we wrapped up.”

“Damn.”

Ten shrugged. “They’re signing with us at least.”

“Of course they did,” Kun said, brushing a strand of hair away from Ten’s forehead. “Nobody can resist you.”

Ten scrunched his face into a smile and Kun couldn’t help leaning down to press a quick kiss onto his partner’s forehead.

“Thanks,” Ten said. “How was your day?”

Kun could feel all the muscles in his face drop as his stomach churned recounting every second of bullshit he put up with today. “Not bad.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Ten said, then poked at the pang in the center of Kun’s chest. It caused him to flinch and swat away Ten’s hand.

“Psht—”

“No, I know you too well at this point.” Ten reached up and dug his fingers into the crook of Kun’s shoulder, and Kun couldn’t help letting out a weak sob. “See! You’re so tense, baby. Was it your dissertation?”

Kun let out a pathetic laugh. God. If _only_ it were his thesis.

“Byron told me all of my research was essentially worthless.”

“No!” Ten shot up from his sprawl and seated himself against the arm rest, eyes turned down to Kun’s nervous hands. He tossed the eye pack onto the corner of the coffee table with a soft _splat_. “But you were living at the Getty for two months!”

“I know,” he sighed. He wished Ten didn't remind him of all the effort he put into his thesis that's now gone down the toilet.

“Listen," Ten raised his pointer finger. "You can’t let someone who doesn’t even wash their rice get to you like this.”

Kun chuckled, amused. “Oh my God.”

"I'm serious! Byron has no idea what he's talking about."

It was sweet of Ten to believe in him so blindly. They'd been together for over five years at this point—since Kun started on his _first_ dissertation in his Master's program. Ten had ushered Kun through many sleepless nights during the time under his Master's program.

“And one of the fellowships I applied for emailed to tell me I didn’t get it.”

Ten winced.

Kun didn’t feel the weight of caution over his chest anymore. He needed to just let it all out, lay every frustrating hurdle he had to get through today on his and Ten’s proverbial table. As much as Kun hated unloading onto people, particularly Ten (who had a rather stressful day job), he learned that communication is the key to a happy and successful life.

“It gets worse.” Kun lets out a long, exasperated sigh that almost startled Ten to roll off the couch. “Some kid fell on my car and left a big dent on it.”

Ten slapped a hand to his chest, voice dripping with shock. ”We just paid that off!”

In truth, _Ten_ just paid it off. It was yet another thing Kun felt indebted to Ten over, right after them signing the papers for a government official domestic partnership so that Kun could become eligible to finally have health insurance _after_ he turned 26. They weren’t ready to get married at the time, but as time passed and Kun grew more familiar with Ten, he figured in a couple more years they’d eventually elope in Las Vegas to seal the deal.

Ten popped up onto his knees and sunk into the couch cushion. “Did you strangle him?”

“I couldn’t deal with the guilt of collecting money from someone living off Top Ramen.”

Ten slumped back in his seat and folded his arms. His eyebrows jumped up in agreement. “Touché. Besides: insurance will take care of it.”

“The deductible is still $500.”

It’s yet another few hundred dollars Kun would need to scrape up with tips doled out from shifts at The Den. Rather than saving for, well, _literally_ any other expense. Maybe even for a loaf of bread that didn’t turn into the Cookie Monster overnight. He couldn’t believe that damn loaf of bread from Gelson’s had the audacity to go bad so quickly.

Kun took another breath and started again. “And that dick, Dr. Madsen, the Antiquities professor? He cornered me in the department to hand over more papers to grade.”

“Ugh!” Ten groaned, face fixed in a faux-fended gaze. “Not again.”

“You’re telling me,” Kun said. He felt giddy with disbelief thinking about the papers searing through the bottom of his bag resting on the chair by the front door. He was so tired of reading about fertility figures that he couldn’t fathom thumbing through one of them again.

“Just feed them to Jack’s dog,” Ten said. He always offered up ideas like they were the easiest solution in the world. “It'd make you the greatest TA in history.”

Kun pondered through a smile. “I’ve always wanted to be a superhero.”

Ten suddenly clutched his stomach. "Alright, I'm starved. How about you?"

"Yes."

"Still on for pizza and _Westworld_?"

Kun nodded. "Yeah, let me take a shower first."

"Perfect, I'll call in the delivery."

Kun stripped his way to the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes from the living room to the shower door. He'd normally take everything off at once in the bedroom and crumple it into the hamper, but tonight he wanted nothing more than to scrub the day off him.

As soon as he dried off, he hobbled his way out of the bathroom to find Ten had already thrown all his clothes into the hamper in their bedroom. He slipped into the office to pluck an oversized, worn out grey tee to throw on, and then slipped on some basketball shorts for maximum comfort.

By the time he came out of the bedroom, the pizza was already delivered and waiting for him on the coffee table. The nightly news was chattering in the background as Ten rubbed his hands together then flung open the box of pizza. Kun plunked down on the couch and his mouth watered at the shock of bell peppers and onions that tingled at the tip of his nose. A cloud of steam drifted from the edge of the first slice Ten pulled from the box.

"Aaah, open up," Ten demanded. He pushed the bite against Kun's lips. Ten brushed his fingertips under his chin with his free hand. Kun moaned as he graciously took a bite and pulled strings of cheese from the slice away from his mouth.

“Delicious,” Kun said around the bite and swallowed it down quickly. Ten agreed with a nod and started to munch on the rest of the slice. Kun swiped the remote off the table to pull up HBO GO on the TV. “Which episode were we on again?”

Kun looked over to see Ten shovel the rest of the crust into his mouth. “Four,” Ten confirmed covering his mouth. He looked adorable trying to graciously chew down the bulge of bread poking at his left cheek. 

Kun shook his head and started the episode. It had been a couple weeks since they were able to pick up where they left off, and Kun had already forgotten some of the character’s names at this point. He hardly cared for watching TV anymore—now it was a way to pass the time with Ten, background noise to blur out stretches of time to enjoy each other’s company. Ten never did well with complete silence.

After the first episode finished, Ten had ended up with his head in Kun’s lap and was drawing circles around a frayed corner of the couch cushion by Kun’s knee.

Ten eased up from his lap and flipped the lid of the pizza box closed. It had gone lukewarm, cheese coagulating over the edges in small puddles of grease that stained the cardboard. Kun’s stomach growled thinking about how perfect it would taste the next morning—cold and fresh out of the refrigerator. 

“You even paying attention to this?” Ten called from the kitchen. Kun could hear the door of the fridge close with a light _k-thnk_.

“Not at all,” Kun admitted. He was on the verge of wanting to take a bit of a cat nap himself. “It’s getting a little much for me.”

Ten strolled back into the living room, hands on his hips and stood a brief moment in thought.

“Well…” he took two steps forward, gaze fixed on Kun. “How about we do something else?”

Ten leaned forward to rest his hands gently on Kun’s shoulders and settled his way onto his lap. His knees sunk into the cushions and pinned Kun’s hips between them as he leaned forward to press a soft kiss against the center of Kun’s forehead.

“My baby had a bad day,” Ten murmured against his temple. Kun felt his hands cradle the back of his head, deft fingers scratching at his scalp to fold him into a warm embrace. “You know what sounds like a good idea?”

Kun let out a deep sigh, sinking further into the couch as Ten relaxed into his position. “What’s a good idea?” Kun buried his nose into the soft cotton of Ten’s freshly laundered t-shirt, little puffs of _Spring Breeze_ filtered through his nose, and began to rub the palms of his hands up and down Ten’s back.

“I think, tomorrow I’m going to call out of work, and we’re going to sleep in. Then we can take a drive through Topanga Canyon.”

Kun pulled his face away from his shirt and looked up.“Topanga?” he asked with his brows raised. “What for?”

Ten shrugged. “It’s pretty driving through there. I also like that junky vintage shop.” Ten traced his thumb against the shell of Kun’s ear. He moved his hands from Kun’s hair and pulled away to kiss the corner of Kun’s mouth.

“Ah. What else?” Kun turned his face to meet his lips and kissed him fully, softly, slowly. He could feel Ten smile into the kiss. 

“We grab lunch somewhere in Malibu. If we have time, we can take a stroll on the beach, then drive home before rush hour.”

He hummed and pulled Ten closer with the smooth glide of a hand to grip the back of Ten’s thigh. He gave it a squeeze and Ten yelped in his lap. “Sounds romantic.”

“I always have the best ideas,” Ten said with a fond look.

“You do, baby,” Kun agreed.

Ten planted his hands atop Kun’s shoulders, then slinked them against the side of Kun’s neck. They rested their foreheads together, silently drank in each others stuttered breaths. Kun inched his face to the left, just barely, to nudge the tip of his nose against Ten’s cheek.

As expected, Ten sensed Kun’s eagerness and roughly pressed their lips together. It was wet, rough, soul-devouring as Ten arched into Kun’s embrace. He let his fingers dance up and down the knobs of Ten’s spine, like piano keys, and traced the tip of his tongue again the seam of his mouth.

Perched on his lap, Ten played Kun like a fiddle—his touch always sensuous, fluid, teasing, tense—like an unrelenting tempo that builds and falls like fire in their lungs.

He gripped at a tuft of hair on the crown of Kun’s head and yanked it to the side. Kun let out a helpless moan as Ten laid the flat of his tongue against the corner of his jaw and licked his way up his cheek. 

Kun gasped at the cold air that clung to the wet stripe against the side of his face. He pinched his eyes closed as Ten pecked a sweet kiss to his eyelid, right against the mole Ten always said he adored, then proceeded to map the tip of his tongue against the thin bristles of Kun’s right eyebrow. 

The sensation was strange each time Ten would do it, but nevertheless it was still electrifying. He could feel Ten’s excitement begin to swell between them. Awareness of his arousal made the blood thrumming within Kun’s own vessel of anticipation rush straight from his ears down to his own cock. Kun groaned and pulled Ten impossibly closer, an endearing attempt to anchor himself to the wet kisses Ten planted against his temple, his forehead, his nose, eyelids, and smothered his own lips against the soft flesh of Ten’s neck.

Ten’s fingers scrambled against the cotton of Kun’s shirt and stretched out the neckline as he pulled away from the kiss. He was panting with a hot pink flush at the apples of his cheeks. He peered down at Kun’s lips and swallowed hard to catch his breath.

“Are you in the mood?”

Kun let out a snort. “_The mood_? Jesus Christ, are we turning 50?”

Ten glared and Kun couldn’t help but let out another small laugh. Ten twisted his hands into the fabric of Kun’s shirt and feathered his lips to the shell of his ear. They were damp from their fevered display of affection, and he could hear them part with a sticky _shck_. The swiftness of Ten’s movement made Kun’s heart lurch forward—a spike of excitement tingle at the base of his skull. 

The tip of Ten’s tongue traced against every fold of Kun’s ear. This wasn’t the first time Ten had pulled a stunt like this, licking and biting at his lobe. They’d been together for so long, Ten’s tongue had tasted every inch of Kun a countless number of times. Nothing drove him as wild as when Ten nibbled at his ear.

Kun shivered and pinched his eyes closed as his head lolled to the side. It felt _so good_. Ten’s tongue moved down, suckling light kisses against the soft flesh of his neck to his jawline. Kun groaned when he felt Ten grip at the hair on the crown of his head and tugged it further to the side.

“Wanna fuck?” Ten purred against his ear.

Kun gripped at Ten’s waist and nodded his head furiously. “Yeah, yes, please.”

Ten circled his thumb and forefingers around Kun’s wrists to remove them from his hips, then made a show of stripping off his faded pink shirt. He tossed it onto the floor behind him and moved in for another kiss.

Kun stopped him with a hand flanked against the center of his chest. He could feel Ten’s heart rattling behind his ribs. “Not here,” he said. “Bedroom.”

“Okay, loverboy.” Ten grabbed Kun’s hand and pressed a quick kiss to his knuckles. “To the bedchambers.”

They shuffled into their room hand in hand then stopped at the foot of their bed. Small plumes of heady bergamot streamed out of the diffuser in the far corner of the room. The scent relaxed Kun, a familiar aroma they both agreed on to help ease away the daily toll of purely existing. He bought Ten the diffuser for his birthday and grew to like some of the unique cocktail of oils Ten would churn out from time to time.

“Listen,” Ten said, voice soft with affection. He dug his fingers into the strained muscles on Kun’s shoulder. “You have had such a shit day that I can’t even bring myself to play _Rock Paper Scissors_ with you tonight. Tell me what you want and we’ll have it your way.”

Kun took a moment to ponder all the possibilities as he tapped a finger against his chin. He couldn’t be bothered giving head tonight, and he was starting to feel more relaxed after his hot shower and the bergamot oil in the diffuser. He also figured taking things easy would be best in an effort to keep mess to a minimum.

“You fuck me,” Kun concluded.

Ten cursed under his breath and rubbed a hand through his hair. “How do you want it?”

“Slow,” he mused and swiped the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip. He watched Ten’s eyes flicker at the movement. “And close. Take your time with me.”

“Oh….” Ten arched an eyebrow. “You’re in your D’Angelo feelings tonight, aren’t you?”

Kun nodded. “I feel like makin’ love, baby.”

Ten slapped a hand over his eyes and chuckled. “You are so _corny_.”

“Come on,” Kun whined as he peeled off his own shirt. “Time’s a-ticking.”

“I thought you wanted me to take my time with you?”

Kun anchored his hands onto Ten’s waist and pulled him closer to whisper in his ear: “But I also want you touching me _now_.”

“Ugh,” Ten groaned. He stepped out of Kun’s embrace and threw his hands up in defeat. “Get your clothes off!”

Kun shucked down the waistband of his basketball shorts as Ten rummaged through the drawer in the nightstand on his side of the bed.

“Are you feeling playful?” Ten offered.

Kun looked up from folding his shirt and shorts to see Ten brandishing anal beads and a shiny, silver butt plug.

“Not really,” Kun said with a tinge of guilt. Ten loved messing around with toys, but Kun didn’t want to drag this out all night, even if they were planning to spend a lazy day together tomorrow. “I only want you tonight.”

He was fully undressed now, and the room was already comfortably warm as he sunk a knee on the edge of the bed and crawled on all fours across the duvet. He stopped at the other side and looked up at Ten.

“Don’t make me beg,” Kun prompted coyly.

Ten flattened his lips and cocked an eyebrow as he tossed the toys back into the drawer with a deep sigh. 

“Did you pick up condoms at CVS?” Ten asked as he swirled his fingers around the drawer. “I can’t find any in here.”

“There should be some in the bathroom.”

“We used the last one the other night,” Ten said as he gestured back to the nightstand.

Kun dropped his head between his shoulders. _Of course_, it was the _one_ thing he forgot to pick up at the pharmacy this afternoon.

“Shit,” he mumbled under his breath. “I’m sorry.”

Ten gently stroked a hand through Kun’s hair and leaned down to press a quick kiss to his forehead. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

Kun let out a small whine. He could feel the weight of himself hanging between his legs, and a delicious ache start to settle deep in his gut. Already half hard, he was settled on the idea of having sex tonight. He didn’t want to back down now—

“Just pull out,” he blurted. His chest pinched in shock at the fact his mouth moved faster than his brain.

“Oh, KunKun,” Ten cooed as he traced his fingers along the corner of his jaw to grip his chin. “Are you sure?”

Kun looked up from his eyelashes and painted on his prettiest pout. “You said I could have it my way tonight.”

He despised acting like a petulant child to get his way—after all, that was Ten’s forte—but Ten _did_ say he would call the shots.

Ten patted his cheek and turned back to slam the drawer closed.

“Baby is bossy tonight,” Ten said leaning over to pat the side of Kun’s hip. He waved his index finger toward the head of the bed. “Turn around.”

Kun smirked and slowly shuffled around to face the headboard on all fours. He felt his face flush, burn, so exposed as he set his knees wide apart.

Ten gently pat the round of his left cheek. "Look at you," he hummed as he squeezed at the muscle. “Such a nice ass, honey.”

“Shut up,” Kun said through a giggle. Ten used his knowledge of where Kun was most ticklish to his advantage. Kun couldn't help arching into the touch as he simultaneously inched away from it. Ten gave his ass one last feathery tap against his rear and walked over to the other side of the bed to rummage through Kun's nightstand drawer. Ten tossed a small bottle of lube next to Kun's hand and sat on the edge of the bed.

Kun adjusted his arm as the mattress beneath him gave to the weight of Ten perched beside him. Ten stroked the back of his hand against the side of Kun's face, a gesture so familiar and reverent it made Kun's heart rattle in his chest. Kun let out a soft sigh and leaned into the touch and brushed the corner of his mouth against a knuckle. Ten twisted his hand to gently lift Kun's face up to meet his.

They took a moment to read each other; Kun blushed under Ten's wanton gaze.

"I love you," Ten whispered as he carded his other hand through Kun's hair. His gaze was dark and full of longing.

Kun turned his face to press a gentle kiss to his wrist. It was a _thank you, I love you, too_ wrapped in a wet press of his lips against the pulse that thrummed beneath them. Ten smelled faintly of roses and sandalwood—the blend of perfumes he doused himself with every day before leaving the house. The scent reminded Kun of every morning he had spent waking up next to Ten over the last few years. 

Ten slipped his hand away from Kun to move to the foot of the bed. Kun heard the soft _chk_ of the bottle of lube opening and felt his thighs begin to quake as Ten squirted some onto his fingers. Ten used his dry hand to rub the globes of Kun's ass again, then lightly raked it up and down the back of his thighs.

"So pretty," Ten said. His voice dripped in admiration, awe, and it made Kun blush even harder.

Kun felt a rush of heat flush over his face as he looked straight ahead at the headboard in front of him. No matter how many times they've done this, Kun still felt a twinge of embarrassment each time he had to expose himself on all fours.

He felt his breath pick up as he tried to picture what his looks like—Ten said he looked pretty, but did he look as pretty as Ten does in the same position? He shivered as his memories traced over the lines of the soft curve of Ten’s waist to hip, to the plump curve of Ten’s ass and sculpted thighs. 

There had been nights when Kun grew impatient, couldn’t bear to wait to spread Ten open, and instead would spend his sweet time sucking bruises into the soft flesh between his legs. When Ten caught on to how much Kun admired the shape of them, he started to ask Kun to fuck them. 

Kun felt like a fool the first time he followed through with it—after all, Ten admitted he got the idea from a porn video he stumbled across when he was in undergrad. Ten dressed one of his legs with lube down the back of his thigh to his calf. He played with himself as Kun kneeled beside him to thrust between his smooth, folded leg. His cock dragged against the back of Ten’s knee with such slick, sweet friction that made Kun’s eyes roll into the back of his head. Ten was laid flat out on the bed and traced the tips of his fingers around the piercing in his left nipple. He used his other hand to tug himself to hardness as Kun rocked between the fold of his bent leg. Kun ignored the fact he most definitely looked ridiculous rutting against the side of Ten’s knee and allowed himself to get lost in the pleasure of watching Ten pull himself apart.

Kun recalled a handful of other positions Ten looked so startlingly desirable and spread his thighs apart a little further to tip his ass up a little higher.

On instinct, his eyes pinched closed the second he felt Ten's warm, wet fingers circle around his rim. Ten gave another light smack against the side of his thigh that lured a hiss from Kun's lips. It was a welcomed distraction as he gently pushed the tip of his finger inside.

Ten coaxed him open, gently yet efficiently, with his slender fingers and soft words of encouragement. He used one hand to massage Kun’s balls and stroke his cock as he pushed another finger in, lightly tapped at Kun’s perineum with the pad of his thumb. 

“This okay?” he asked as he slipped a third finger inside.

Kun whined as his hand pulled at the duvet under his palms. He could feel sweat begin to pool at the ridge of his spine, down the curve of his back as he focused on keeping himself upright and in control.

“Yes,” is all Kun could manage to get out, voice strained, before he let out a deep, guttural groan when Ten spread his fingers ever so slightly. The loud squelch of Ten’s fingers fucking in and out of him was nearly as embarrassing as the gob of lube he felt dribble down his sack.

“Feel good?”

He wanted to tell Ten that he kept missing his prostate, but Kun was drunk on his own arousal, of knowing Ten was bound to find it—

“Oh, _fuck_ me,” Kun whimpered. His arms gave out as his face thunked down into the pillow beneath him to muffle his moans.

Ten had found it, and settled on pressing relentless, torturously slow circles. “Do you wanna come, baby?”

Of course he wanted to come. His toes started to curl as his hand ripped the corner of a sheet off the bed. He felt his hips start to grind and fuck into Ten’s loose grip around his cock.

But somewhere, in the deep recesses of his mind, he _refused_ to ruin the duvet. He couldn’t believe they forgot to take it off before they started.

“No,” he moaned. “Stop. Ten, stop.”

Ten eased his movements to a halt. “Stopping.”

Kun brought his hands beneath him to stabilize himself and push up from the pillows again. He took a couple breaths between pants to collect himself and turned to look at Ten over his shoulder. Ten slowly slipped his fingers out from him.

“No mess, please.”

They shed the duvet off the bed and both worked to settle Kun on his back, legs spread wide, open and waiting for Ten.

“Just fuck me,” Kun said, still trying to regain his breath. He felt like brush caught in a wildfire. “I’m ready, please, fuck me.”

Ten wiped the lube from his hands against his boxers and then quickly shimmied out of them. He settled between Kun’s thighs and started to rut their cocks together.

“I wanna see you come first,” Ten purred. “You look so pretty when you come.”

He slinked a hand down to Kun’s cock again and picked up where he left off, wrist working skilfully against the drag of foreskin over the head of Kun’s cock. Kun whimpered beneath him, felt like a live wire, and tried his best to stave off the desperation and desire to beg Ten to stuff him with his dick already. 

But Ten fed his impatience with a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth, and drowned out the noises slipping from his throat with heated kisses.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Ten said through gritted teeth. He worked his hand tighter around Kun. “You close?”

All Kun could do was keep his eyes pinched closed and nod _yes_ as he panted against Ten’s mouth. Ten licked the sweat that gathered at his hairline and his temples, the side of his neck. Kun could feel his eyes start to water—he was so close.

“Let go, sweetheart,” Ten murmured against the shell of his ear. “Let go.”

Kun felt his toes curl once again and back arch off the bed. Ten got back up on his knees and worked both hands over Kun’s cock to pull him over the edge. 

“That’s it,” Ten said. “Look at me.”

Kun opened his eyes, and after one, two, three strokes, came hard with a hushed moan. Come dribbled down Ten’s knuckles and shot up his chest.

“What a mess,” Ten tutted inspecting the trails of Kun’s release that slid down the backs of his hands.

Kun ignored Ten, or rather paid half-attention to him as he took a moment to regain his senses by tracing animals in the popcorn ceiling above him. He felt Ten lick up the come that started to congeal on his chest.

“Thank you,” Kun said through a smile. He tapped his hand against the side of Ten’s head and pulled him up for a kiss. He could taste himself on Ten’s tongue—something he had grown past feeling strange about. Kun never thought he could learn to be okay with it, tasting his own release, but somewhere along the line, Kun started to go with whatever Ten wanted. Ten pushed his comfort zone, challenged him to new experiences, and almost always, Kun took pleasure in the experience.

“No, thank _you_,” Ten said. “I’m going to wash my hands really quick.”

Kun nodded and curled onto his side. He felt blissed out between the tremors of pleasure that twitched through his post-orgasmic haze.

He felt the bed dip behind him, then the warmth of Ten’s body settle behind him. Ten pressed a warm hand against the slope of Kun’s shoulder and down his side. Ten curled an arm across the front of Kun’s chest and pressed a peck at the nape of his sticky neck.

“Is this how you want me?” Ten asked against the shell of his ear. It made the hair on the back of Kun’s neck stand up.

“Yes,” Kun said, voice sounding hoarse and tired. “Make it count.”

He heard the click of the lube bottle open again. Ten slicked up his cock then started to rub it between his cheeks teasingly.

“I’m going to make sweet, sweet love to you,” Ten assured him with a teasing lilt.

Kun couldn’t help himself from bursting out into a fit of laughter. He slapped at Ten’s hand on his chest grabbed it with a small squeeze. “Shut up and give it to me.”

Ten placed a sticky palm against the side of Kun’s hip to steady him and pushed the head of his cock in slowly.

It was much bigger than his slender fingers. Kun canned his laughter for a quiet moan as he stretched around his cock.

“Good,” he said, hips steadied on his side as he got used to the sensation. He arched into the feeling, searching for the most comfortable angle, but Ten slid his hand from the plane of Kun’s chest and slipped down to his lower abdomen.

The pressure between Kun’s thighs was a dull ache, already spent and split open, but not enough to fully get hard again just yet. Ten rocked into him slowly with short, experimental thrusts before grinding into him.

Kun gasped as Ten pressed them closer, sweat-slicked chest rubbing against his back. Ten pressed his hand against his lower abdomen again, insistent to keep their hips together as he slowly rocked into Kun.

“Like that?” Ten asked.

Kun brought a hand cover the one over Ten’s on his stomach and nodded, breathless.

It was mesmerizing, no matter how many times they had done this before—on either end— each time, Kun felt safe, relaxed, _whole_. 

The feeling was so comforting, he felt his grip on Ten’s hand slowly ease off, then fall away. His lids grew heavy and he leaned into the familiar feeling of Ten’s embrace.

“Kun?” Ten said with a tap to his shoulder.

“Mmm?” Kun hummed, hand scrambling to reach for Ten’s again.

Ten had stilled his hips flushed against Kun’s ass. “Did… did you just fall asleep?”

Kun stayed silent and just squeezed his hand around Ten’s to bring up against his chest.

He felt Ten slowly pull out and whimpered with disappointment.

“No, no, finish!” Kun said trying to turn around to face Ten.

“It’s fine, I’m close,” Ten said curtly.

Ten took a hand to press Kun’s hip and tipped him face down against the mattress. He spent less than a minute furiously tugging at his cock until Kun felt the warm splash of his release settle on the small of his back.

It made Kun feel terrible, dirty, cheap. Their otherwise incredible evening turned a bit sour in its awkwardness, but this instance was absolutely the lowest point of his day. And this time, it was entirely his own undoing.

“Don’t move,” Ten commanded. He sprung up from the bed.

Kun kept his face buried against the pillow and soaked in the shame that tried to devour him whole. He felt a warm cloth wipe at the small of his back.

“Thank you,” Kun whispered.

“Of course,” Ten said, his voice tight but a still-comforting undertone to his words.

Kun could make out the sound of Ten’s feet padding against the tile of the bathroom floor and soft _k-thnk_ of the cloth being tossed into the hamper. Guilt swirled in Kun’s chest as he lay stretched out against their sheets. He felt the bed shift as Ten settled into his side, but he couldn’t face him after the awkward end to their night. 

Kun squeezed his eyes shut and hoped sleep would wash over him with the promise of a better day.

##

Friday morning started off beautifully. 

It was a 180° turnaround from the day before. To start, Kun didn’t have to consider moldy bread waiting for him in the kitchen. No, Ten graciously had the foresight to email his HR department the night before to call out before they passed out in bed. It was the first weekday in months they got to sleep in until 8:00. Kun took it upon himself to be Ten’s personal alarm clock and fixed his head between Ten’s sun-kissed thighs. He hummed against the soft flesh of Ten’s groin with the warmth of the morning sun freckled across his back, and kissed apologies against his thighs for last night’s rather anti-climatic ending. Ten lazily raked his hands through Kun’s hair and squeezed his knees around Kun’s shoulders. 

All was forgiven.

They wolfed down Kun’s beloved cheese and pepper omelettes over tea and read news articles to each other at the counter of their kitchenette. The dishes were left in the sink and they rushed to clean themselves up to leave the apartment for the day. Kun snagged a couple beach towels to throw in the trunk of Ten’s Mercedes, just in case they ended up on a beach later.

To Ten’s surprise, it was a breeze driving to Topanga. They timed the drive from their apartment perfectly—they left just after the morning rush hour traffic died on the 101—and snaked their way into the mouth of Topanga Canyon. Kun loved the drive through this part of what was still considered part of Los Angeles County. Time had a thicker viscosity there. It was a mountainous stretch of coastline that had yet to be a victim of Southern California’s wildfires or the glitzy over-building of gaudy, multi-million dollar mansions like the neighboring Calabasas. Instead, it lent itself to remain an otherworldly retreat stacked in evergreen trees on steep hillsides with a handful of modest homes left unrenovated since the 1960s. 

Ten parked the car on a gravelly part of the road halfway into their drive through the canyon and dragged Kun into his favorite vintage clothing shop. They traipsed through aisles of paisley polyester button-ups, scuffed leather jackets, and racks of perfectly worn-in high-waisted denim jeans. 

He successfully talked Kun into buying a vintage bolero tie and nabbed an oversized Pendelton jacket for himself despite it being the dead of summer.

“How can you even _think_ about sticking a finger in that thing?” Kun said with mild concern.

“I love it,” Ten cooed as he adjusted the collar in the mirror. He cocked his head to the side and pouted. “Don’t I look like a sexy lumberjack?”

Kun folded his arms across his chest. Of course Ten looked great, but it was sweltering outside. He was getting a heat stroke looking at him.

“Oh, whatever,” Ten said as he peeled off the jacket. “I’m getting it regardless. It’s _perfect_. These things cost like $300.”

“That’s a lot of money, babe.”

“It is! And this right here is only $70. Likely worn once by some jackass billionaire in Bel Air and it ended up at an estate sale.” Ten draped the shoulders back over the plastic hanger and plucked a stray piece of lint off the sleeve. He took a moment to marvel at it then turned to look at Kun. “It’s a _steal_, honey.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Kun said.

Kun tried to not think about the $500 deductible he might have to pay for the repair on the hood of his car. Of course, he suspected his face said otherwise when Ten turned his nose up and started walking toward the register.

“I swear, I’ll live in it all winter,” Ten insisted.

“We live in West Hollywood, not Portland,” Kun said. “It’ll be justifiably cold for two days.”

Ten looked at him with a devilish smirk. “And I’ll cherish every minute of those two days.”

There was no use in denying Ten what he wanted. From day one, if Ten wanted something, he would go for it. 

“Life’s boring without a little indulgence,” he told Kun on their third date. He had taken Kun to a rooftop bar on the Sunset Strip where the drinks were insanely overpriced. Kun insisted they split the bill, but Ten had already got the bartender to clear out the tab. 

Kun thought this way of thinking was reckless, albeit thrilling, and it made him more intrigued by Ten. As the years passed between them, he felt less prideful and became grateful to have a partner so generous in spoiling him from time to time. There would be no way for Kun to feasibly get through his PhD program without going flat broke and insane.

And that’s how their day led them to a cafe tucked on a private beach in Malibu. They treated themselves to a bucket of steamed clams, mussels, and lobster tails. Ten made Kun peel all of the shrimp before hand-feeding it to him across the small table between them. It was a peaceful afternoon in which they sat on the patio in oversized lounge chairs and sipped tropical cocktails as the ocean waves lapped at the shore. Kun cradled a hollowed out watermelon filled with fruit punch and rum as he stole glances of Ten bathing under the sun.

Just before they started to turn beat red, they paid for the bill and hit the road in hopes to dodge rush hour traffic home. They merged onto the 405 a quarter after 3 in the afternoon and were met with a wall of cars stacked across all five lines going northbound.

“Dear god,” Ten groaned. He gripped his hands tighter around the wheel. “It’s a parking lot.”

“It’s the 405,” Kun said with a shrug. “It’s like this at all hours of the day.”

“Doesn’t make it any less irritating.”

They sat in silence for ten minutes only to crawl half a mile closer to the next exit. The air conditioner was on fullblast, like ice seering at the tips of Kun’s ears as he sunk into the passenger’s seat. He was half-engaged with the NPR podcast mumbling in the background as he watched a man headbang to what he could barely make out as Rage Against the Machine with his windows down in a beat up Toyota pick-up truck. He checked the side mirror to see the woman in the car behind them pick her nose and wipe it against her blouse before applying a fresh layer of fuschia lipstick.

“Babe,” Ten said firmly. 

Kun broke out of his daze and slowly turned to give his attention. “Hmm?”

He waved his hand over his phone cradled in a stand on the console. “Can you check Waze?” 

“What for?” 

Kun knew it was pointless. It was Friday afternoon in West Los Angeles. _Everyone_ was heading in every direction away from here. The gridlock was inevitable, no matter how you sliced it.

“I dunno, I think maybe taking Sepulveda would be better.” He started to tap his forefingers against the steering wheel. Kun found odd considering there was no rhythm filtering through the speakers. Ten usually tapped his fingers along to music.

“Did you want to make a stop somewhere on the way home?”

“No, I just want to see.” Ten rushed through his words. Kun noticed he sounded a little winded.

“It’s probably no better than staying on here,” Kun said swiping the phone from the center console. He paused the podcast and unlocked the screen to bring up Waze. He selected their home address from the menu bar.

“Just check anyway,” Ten snapped.

Kun dropped the phone into his lap, shocked. “Are you okay?”

“Let’s take I-405 North, Sacramento,” the robotic guide cut through the speakers. “In five hundred feet, stay on I-405 North for 3.1 miles to exit 57A, Sunset Boulevard. Your estimated time in traffic is 37 minutes.”

Ten let out a deep sigh and thumped his head against the driver-side window. Kun noticed him start to bounce his left leg while keeping his right firmly on the break.

“Ten,” Kun said, much softer this time. “What’s wrong?”

Ten kept his eyes straight ahead, stare vacant and focused on the Prius idled in front of them as they inched their way to the Sunset Boulevard exit. There was a sense of urgency, nervousness, radiating from Ten that came out of nowhere.

“If you need to pee, I think we have a water bottle back here.” Kun craned his neck to search for a stray bottle floating in the back seat of the car. He blindly reached around the space behind Ten’s seat and leaned closer to him. “And I can take my shirt off for you so we don’t get pulled over—”

“I’m fine,” Ten said firmly. 

He stopped wiggling his leg and sunk into the black leather to rip off his sunglasses. He looked exhausted and tossed the frames into a cup holder.

Kun ceased his search and leaned back upright into his seat. “You don’t seem like it.”

“Well,” Ten’s lips quivered in and out of a smile. He started tapping at the steering wheel again as he eased off the brake to move another few hundred feet. “There’s something I’ve been needing to get off my chest.”

“Oh?”

“And I was hoping to be home sooner rather than later because I don’t think I can hold it in another second.”

“Well, we have about,” Kun picks up the phone to check the estimated arrival time. “Another 45 minutes until we’re home.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ten wailed.

“We have plenty of time to talk, it’s okay.”

“Oh, God,” Ten bit his lip. “I don’t know if I can do this.” Ten swallowed down a couple deep breaths and scratched at his thigh.

“You already said you have to, though.”

“I do, I just, I don’t know if _here_ is okay. _Now_.”

Kun let the silence drift between them, and allowed his heart to stop for a moment: “You’re not dying, are you?”

Ten laughed, “Of course not!”

“It’s not funny!” Kun rasped, throat gone dry. His heart clenched with a fraction of relief, then inwardly pinched himself for allowing his brain jump to the worst possible scenario.

“I know, I know,” Ten babbled and waved his hand. “It’s not at all, sorry. I swear I’m not dying, it isn’t that serious.”

Kun started to feel his hands shake out of frustration. He immediately folded them in his lap to hide their tremors. “But it’s serious?”

Ten nodded and swallowed hard. “I’ve been trying to find a way to talk to you about this for a while now. I was actually going to do it last night, but last night was all about you. And then today turned into all about us.” Ten raked a hand through his hair and scratched at the skin behind his ear. “Today was nice. It was perfect. And reminded me how much I love spending time with you.”

Oh god. _Is he finally going to propose?_ Kun thought. 

“I love spending time with you, too, sweetheart,” Kun said.

Ten eased the car into a complete stop and turned to given Kun his undivided attention. Kun resisted the urge to iron out the crease between Ten’s eyes. It looked all too much like the familiar squint that etched into Ten’s face before a migraine attack. “And, please, you don’t have to have an answer right away. And there isn’t a right or wrong answer.”

Kun started to feel his heart thud fast in his chest. His breaths grew shallow as he willed down a wave of nausea.

Ten opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before he gained enough composure to look directly into Kun’s eyes—a look loaded with hope, uncertainty, hesitance, an _apology_—and asked: “How would you feel about opening our relationship?”

It was not what Kun expected to hear fall from his partner of five years’ lips. In fact, it was the _last_ thing Kun ever thought he’d hear from Ten. The proverbial record scratch ripped through his ears as he processed what was asked of him. _Opening the relationship_.

“About what?” Kun asked. “You’d like us to _what_?”

Ten let out a deep sigh. He looked visibly frustrated. “Shit, I knew I should have waited until we got home.”

“No, no, this is perfect,” Kun started to feel his voice waver, crescendoing upward with each word and unraveling into a state of hysteria. “We’re stuck in a car for 40 minutes with nothing else to do but question the state of a relationship I _thought_ was going perfectly!”

“But it is!” Ten yelped. “We are perfect! We really are, and I love you more than anything in the world.”

“Then why would you want to ‘open’ the relationship?” he asked with air quotes. “Is it because I fell asleep last night?”

“No!” Ten replied quickly, eyes fixed wide.

“God, the _one_ time I fall asleep during sex.”

“No, of course that isn’t. I told you—I had been thinking about how to ask you.”

“Is this you breaking up—”

“I wouldn’t!” Ten pounded his fist against the dashboard. “It’s me asking us to consider taking other sexual partners. Strictly that. Not other _relationships_, just sex.”

Kun leaned forward in his seat to rummage through the glove compartment. He fished out a lip balm, mostly to distract himself, but to also find relief for his chapped lips. He rubbed the balm onto his lips and reluctantly moved forward with his next question. 

“Did you cheat?”

“Of course not,” Ten scoffed. “I swear on my life, I would never, ever do that to you.”

“Then why? Explain to me why,” Kun begged, voice barely above a whisper. He took a deep breath and held it for a long pause; he couldn’t look Ten in the eye. “I’m so confused.”

Ten steeled himself. “I’m curious. I’ve met other couples who do this. And they’re, like, fully functioning married couples and long-term partners with strong, healthy communication. They _all_ emphasized how opening their relationship strengthened their own intimacy with their partner.” Ten turned his focus back to the road ahead and accelerated to catch up with the rest of the traffic around them. They only crawled forward several hundred feet before Ten continued. “It got me thinking if that could be something for us.”

“Are you… asking to have a threesome?”

Ten seemed to ponder Kun’s words before speaking again. “That’s not off the table, but just... I wanted to ask if we could maybe see other people. Make new experiences. Have one night stands. You know, things we both didn’t do much of before we met each other.”

Kun thought back to a time before he met Ten—he’d had three sexual partners: two girlfriends and one boyfriend—and Ten, well, Ten was a fluke. He was one in a million, the luck of the draw. 

“When I met you,” Kun started, “you told me you had broken up with your boyfriend and were looking for a good time. I was supposed to be a one night stand. But now, five years later, we’re stuck on the 405 and you’re asking me to open our relationship. What does that say about us, Ten? Do you really think you’re capable of _flings_?”

Surprise washed over Ten’s face. He clutched a hand over his chest and spent a good fifteen seconds with his mouth hanging open, wide and unsure, in shock in the middle of a gridlocked, 5-lane interstate highway.

“You weren’t a one night stand,” Ten countered. “It _wasn’t_ just one night with you.”

“I was _supposed_ to be,” Kun said curtly. He didn’t mean for it to slip out of his mouth so cruelly, and instantly he felt himself have trouble swallowing down a lump of regret that bobbed in his throat. 

But the confusion had started to simmer into doubt, to second guessing the five years Kun spent building a bond with Ten. 

“No,” Ten said as his lip trembled. “No, we weren’t. We were supposed to be reckless and fuck the instant we met, and then turn into idiots in love with each other five years later.” Kun watched him dab a knuckle at the corner of his eye to wipe at a stray tear. Ten’s voice quivered: “Don’t you _ever_ say it was anything other than that.”

Kun started to feel tears well up in his own eyes. “I just want to know why now. Why now, Ten?” His mouth felt heavy, thick as he swallowed down the painful lump in his throat. “Am I not enough for you?”

Ten shook his head fervently. “It’s not that you aren’t enough for me,” Ten sniffled. “We don’t even have to do this, okay? I just wanted to ask what you thought. I was thinking about how much I’ve learned how we work together, and I started to think about how I spent my teenage years and early 20s with one _loser_ before I found you. I had slept with one other person before we met. And we’re still so young. We’re in our late 20s now, and I’m curious to know how being with someone else feels.” Ten bit his lip and cleared his throat. “Is that wrong? Is it wrong for me to wonder?”

Kun sat in silence.

Kun turned his eyes away from there world confined to the shell of a Mercedes on an Interstate to gaze at the Getty Center. There is was in all its glory, lodged into the hillside under the under the bright, late afternoon sun. One of the enormous, white buildings looked radiant. Kun recalled the hours that added up to _months_ of his life cramped at a table in the library up at the top of that hill. He had dug through shelves of periodicals, photo archives, search engines, _anything_ and everything to support his thesis. All that effort kept leading him to an unfathomably frustrating wall he could not seem to scale. Byron said he wasn’t trying hard enough. 

Kun, on the other hand, started to feel like maybe he wasn’t even trying at all.

“Please,” Ten pleaded. “Say anything, Kun.”

“I don’t have an answer for you right now,” Kun conceded, voice drawling with an exasperated sigh.

“That’s okay,” Ten said. “It’s okay if it’s ‘no.’”

“I—I don’t want to say ‘no,’” Kun stuttered. He chewed at his bottom lip nervously for half a second. “But I don’t want to say ‘yes.’ For now.”

Ten nodded.

“I want to talk about it when we get home,” Kun said.

Ten turned the radio back on just as the tires of the pick-up truck next to them screeched to a halt and laid into their car horn. The driver had barely missed the bumper of a careless Maserati that cut them off.

“In a quarter mile, exit right to exit 57A, Sunset Boulevard,” the GPS system reminded them. “Your estimated time in traffic is 7 minutes.”

Ten signaled to merge into the next lane over as Kun fiddled with the phone in his lap. He settled for a sense of comfort to ease the wall of tension that built up between them and tuned into the local classical music station. Kun instantly recognized the flurried staccato as the third movement of Vivaldi’s _[Summer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ytw99mkVZ8I)_. 

He reached blindly for Ten’s right hand and peeled it away from the wheel. He laced their fingers together and sensed Ten’s reluctance beneath the clamminess of his palm. Kun gave Ten’s hand an assuring squeeze, then turned his face to gaze out the passenger side window.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry to end this on such a sad note. This was actually supposed to be the first installment of the series! Anyhow, I'm looking forward to exploring Kun and Ten's dynamic in this verse. There are so many things I have in store for them....
> 
> Huge thanks to my number one cheerleader and best beta ever, [Shauna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkwinwin/pseuds/pinkwinwin).
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/johntographique) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/violetpeche)


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